Hey everyone,
I wanted to share a simple moment with you all—something that started off as just another ordinary day but ended up leaving me deep in thought.
I was at the mall with my wife and our 2-year-old son. We were just running errands, enjoying a casual outing. Our little one is full of life—he loves to play, explore, and run around. Fortunately, this particular mall has open areas where kids can roam a bit more freely. So we let him go, keeping an eye on him from a distance, letting him enjoy his independence.
He’s quite the social little guy, but with boundaries. He’ll greet people and share laughs, but he’s not big on physical contact—and honestly, I admire that. He knows what makes him comfortable. He also tends to be respectful of spaces. We’ve visited people’s homes, and he’s never been the kind of toddler who pulls things down or breaks stuff. It’s like he has an intuitive sense of what not to touch.
That’s why I usually let him be. I love watching him run around, burn off energy, explore. It helps him sleep well at night too, so it’s a win-win.
But in the middle of watching him play, something unexpected happened. A thought crossed my mind—more like a flash of fear, really—and it completely froze me.
I imagined, for just a second, what if I lost sight of him? What if, in a blink, he wasn’t where I thought he was? What if someone… someone awful, grabbed him and walked away?
It was just a thought. But it hit hard.
I suddenly pictured him in distress, with a stranger, feeling scared, confused, not understanding what was happening. And worse—what if they hurt him just to keep him quiet? That image sent a wave of rage and helplessness through me.
It didn’t happen. He was still right there, within his little “safe zone,” aware of how far he could go and still be within our view. But the fear stayed with me for a while. It was raw and real.
And then I thought about the people who don’t just imagine these things—they live them. Parents who have actually lost a child. Families who are living through that kind of pain, uncertainty, and horror. I can't even begin to grasp the depth of that agony.
You don’t have to be a parent to feel empathy for something like that. Just being human is enough.
Eventually, my little one ran up to me, smiling, and reached for my arms. I lifted him, hugged him tightly, and made silly faces to make him laugh. We finished our shopping, and the moment we got in the car, he knocked out—completely worn out from all the fun.
It wasn’t a remarkable story by any stretch. But it was real. And I felt like sharing it.
Because sometimes, the simplest moments reveal the most. They remind us how fragile life is. How quickly everything can change. And how our minds, even when everything’s fine, can open doors to deep, uncomfortable truths.
Since that moment, every hug feels different. Every laugh, every look, every sleepy cuddle at night feels more sacred. More necessary.
If you’ve ever had a thought like that—just a flash of fear—or if you know someone who’s lived through a tragedy like that, I want to send love and strength your way.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for being here. And thank you for sharing your stories too—because when we open up, we grow together.